


Second Chances

by Doctor_WTF



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Lost Love, Second Chances, Tragedy, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-22
Updated: 2013-09-24
Packaged: 2017-12-27 09:08:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/976988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctor_WTF/pseuds/Doctor_WTF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Molly moves on Sherlock realizes all too late what has slipped through his fingers. Will he ever find the strength to let her go?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyCorvidae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyCorvidae/gifts).



Molly was a vision in white as she walked down the aisle. Hair in ringlets, lace veil framing her delicate features beautifully, she bore a bouquet of daisies in her hands as she slowly walked down the aisle to the music. Her eyes rested upon him and her smile only grew, eyes sparkling as she beamed at him. A last minute case had pulled him away and, despite John's protests, he'd taken it. For a short while he'd been uncertain if he was going to reach the ceremony in time, but how could he miss it?

This was Molly Hooper. His pathologist. The woman who counted. The woman who had saved his life and sheltered him during the fall. She'd never asked to be repaid either, only had embraced him tightly and welcomed him back with relief in her voice.

He owed her this.

Meeting her smile with one of his own, he nodded to her as she approached him. She truly was lovely, he mused to himself. The shade of lipstick she had chosen was perfect, her lips looked neither too large or too small, and the slight heel she had chosen to wear did wonders to give her the illusion of height. She was beautiful. Everything a bride should be on her wedding day.

She reached his side...

...and walked past him.

His eyes followed her as she reached the alter, joining hands with William, her fiancé, as soon as they were within touching distance of each other. Their eyes met, sparkling with mutual delight and joy as their fingers entwined and they turned towards the priest. The congregation sat and he mentally prepared himself for a long and probably tedious ceremony.

John leaned over towards him slightly, his voice a hiss. "Are you sure you're alright with this?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

*****

Molly Smith nee Hooper, laughed and squealed as her new husband spun her around the dance floor. Her smile was wide enough to split her face and her cheeks were flushed with delight as he lifted her by the waist and spun them around. It was sloppy considering that the music playing was better suited to a waltz. They obviously hadn't invested in dance lessons. Then again, Molly simply didn't have the time for lessons and William - call me Bill - didn't seem the type. He didn't think he'd ever seen her so happy before.

Checking his mobile, he noted the time and decided that politeness mandated he remain for at least an additional forty-five minutes. Sighing, he scanned the room and hoped that one of the guests had murdered another or at least had spontaneously combust into flames. No such luck though. Dull.

John wandered over, his wife Mary gone to coo over the wedding cake and take photos with a swarm of other women. His former flatmate's brow was furrowed and his step was even and quick with military precision. He was concerned and suspicious. Lifting his wine glass to his lips, he wondered what had set him off this time.

"You got Molly a gift," John said, voice accusing as he stopped in front of him.

He raised an eyebrow at that. "This is a wedding. I was operating under the assumption that such things were expected."

"You didn't get Mary and I a gift when we got married."

"I knew you wouldn't expect one from me."

Lip twitching, John looked for a moment as if he were debating whether or not to be cross before sighing deeply. "So what did you get her then?"

"Something she needed."

"Really? You picked something from the registry then?"

"No." He hadn't understood Molly's gift registry. It was full of things like cookware and china that she'd never use, that she would have no time for. There was no sense in purchasing her a gift that would remain in its box, unopened and unused, for months or years.

For some reason his answer made John pale. He grabbed at his arm, gripping it tightly. "Oh God, what did you get her? Please tell me that box isn't full of organs?"

Shaking John's hand off, he scowled. "Why would I give Molly biohazards as a wedding gift? She's my primary source for all organ and tissue samples and has considerably easier access to them then myself." He sneered the last bit as he mentally derided the fools at St. Barts for limiting his access.

"Then what did you get her?"

"An album," he said shortly. At John's blank look he sighed and continued. "The sort that you place photographs and the like into in order to help the masses preserve memories. Sentimental drivel really, but Molly's like that."

"Full of drivel?"

"Sentimental. Really, John you're being remarkably dense today."

Instead of arguing, John nodded. Sliding his hands into his pockets he stood next to him and watched Molly and William laugh and spin themselves around the dance floor. "Sherlock, are you sure you're alright with this?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"You locked yourself into Baker Street and did nothing but sulk and play your violin for two weeks after Molly got engaged."

"Coincidence. I was in the midst of a most taxing case."

"When she sent out the invites you pinned the RSVP card to your wall and used it for target practice. With my gun, by the way. You have to stop knicking that."

"Another case. The card was the correct size and shape to represent a target at a set distance. It was simply conveniently at hand."

"Sherlock," John sighed and turned towards his friend. "As much as you try to deny it, you have to admit that even you're human. It's okay to have feelings for another person. I know that your chance with Molly is gone now, but there's lots of other women out there who could-"

"Thank you John," he interrupted, setting down his wine glass with a clink.

The older man frowned, brow furrowing. "For what?"

"For taking up my remaining forty-five minutes." Striding away, eyes firmly on the coat check he walked away from it all. From the laughter and lights and the way Molly's eyes lovingly followed only one man who wasn't him. "Laters."

*****

Molly Hooper (Smith she would remind him with a smile and chide him for being so resistant to change) came back from her honeymoon a little bit sunburnt, a little bit heavier, and a little bit pregnant. He deduced it all at a glance, the fine foods, the beach, and the copious lovemaking, and then asked her to prepare a slide for him.

She did so with a grin.

It was the nurses, Mary, and John that she shared the honeymoon photos with though he got a glimpse of stunning sunsets and white sand beaches when Mrs. Hudson asked him to help her access them. The landlady was still uncertain of her laptop's e-mail and it was a small thing to aid her in cracking her password. He saw enough with the first shot, Molly in a bikini laughing uproariously as William carried her bridal-style into turquoise waves.

Sometimes he found himself hating William a bit. He had no reason to. William was a good person, an upstanding citizen who had no black smears on his record and who treated Molly well. She loved him desperately. Almost as much as he adored her.

He waited a week, nearly trembling with impatience as Molly showed her honeymoon photos to anyone who expressed a passing interest. His precious lab and morgue was becoming crowded with well-wishers. All he wanted was for them to go away. For things to go back to the way they had been before.

"Wasn't it terribly dull?" he asked as yet another nurse wandered off after cooing over the photos. "Having nothing to do except eat and splash in the water all day? It would drive me mad."

"That's not all we did," Molly said, and she had a slight flush on her cheeks. It escalated to beet redness as she stammered and insisted that she meant they'd also visited a series of cultural sights but he had known what she'd actually meant. Sexual relations. With William. A capable lover who could cause Molly to become aroused with a series of text messages.

The hatred bloomed in him again.

Three weeks later and Molly had determined the thing he had deduced instantly upon seeing her. He'd found her in the lab, face pale and drawn as she stared at the results of a blood test in her hands. Swallowing heavily, she looked up at him with hollow eyes.

"I'm pregnant."

Telling her that he had known already seemed more than a little 'not good' so he settled for pasting a false smile on his lips and nodding. "Congratulations. May I have that liver sample you were working on yesterday?"

She nodded absently and he went to fetch it out of the cooler, settling in front of his favorite microscope.

"I don't understand," Molly muttered, rubbing her face. "I'm using-"

"Oral contraceptive which you have been using in an unreliable manner." Molly opened her mouth to protest and he continued quickly. "Your recent honeymoon. You neglected to take into account time zone differences when taking the pill 'at the same time every day' and likely skipped a day or two as well in the excitement. Assuredly, you made up for the skipped days by taking additional doses once you noticed, but the damage had likely already occurred by then."

Mouth snapping shut, Molly looked very near to tears as she buried her head in her hands. Her shoulders heaved. "What am I going to tell Bill?" she gasped, sounding on the edge of panic.

Instantly he was by her side, kneeling next to her. "He disapproves of children?"

She shook her head. "No, but we were planning on waiting a bit before we started trying," she said, wiping at her nose. Her eyes squinted to try and hold back tears. "We were going to finish paying off the wedding and maybe get the down payment together to buying a flat before we had a baby. I've fouled all our plans up!"

Hesitating on the edge of elation and worry, he gently touched her knee. It was like an electric shock ran though him, shaking him from head to toe. Molly felt it too if the way her eyes darted to him was any consideration. "Will he react with anger or attempt to force you to terminate? If you are concerned Molly, I-"

Shaking her head, she pulled away and smiled at him weakly. "It's okay, Sherlock. I'm sure it's all going to be fine. I'm probably just making mountains out of mole hills. Bill and I, well, we can make this work. He'll be fine with it."

Worrying her lip, she stood and walked to the door. Fetching her mobile out of her pocket as she walked she cast a smile back at him. "Thank you for being worried for me," she said, pausing by the door. "We've been through a lot together, but I'm so glad we're friends now."

The door swung shut after her and he knelt there frozen on the floor.

Friends.

*****

William Smith was delighted at the news of the baby.

Molly Hooper (never Smith) glowed as she grew, leaving the lab and its chemicals behind as she took on a teaching role.

He threw himself into his work and yet hovered by Molly's side as much as he could. He was there when Molly felt the baby kick for the first time, allowing himself to be dragged over to her and his hand pressed to her stomach as her face lit up with wonder and tears. He was there to fetch her whatever monstrosity her cravings created, badgering the canteen to produce pickles and peanut butter whenever she asked for it. He was there when she brought in her sonograms, proudly announcing to everyone that it was a girl. He was always there.

Yet it was always William who met her at the doors to escort her home.

*****

Molly Hooper should have gone on maternity leave three weeks ago. She laughed when he told her that, resting her hand on the huge belly that had overtaken her tiny form. "I'm saving it up for after the baby comes," she said with a smile. She rubbed herself absently, lips twitching as she felt the baby squirm within her. "I want as much time as I can to bond before I go back to work."

His shoulders sagged even though he didn't have a reason to preform that action. "So you do intend to return to Barts?" he asked, adjusting his slide and peering through it to the bacteria he'd been culturing.

She laughed again, the sound filling the room with warmth. "Don't worry, Sherlock. I know how you hate change. I'll be back here before you know it."

Taking notes he was about to argue that 52 weeks maternity leave was not any sort of time he'd be able to ignore when Molly gave a surprised little gasp. Looking to her, he noted the sudden appearance of a pool of wetness underneath her chair with detached confusion that turned to horror as her eyes widened and she clutched her belly.

"Call Bill. I think the baby's coming."

Time sped up after that. Ignoring her wishes he focused instead on getting her upstairs. Out of the lab where the dead were dissected and into the world where they were born. He barked out orders to nurses, hassled doctors as Molly paled and began to cry out as contractions hit. She seemed so little and more than a little bit afraid as they clutched each other's hand.

She continued to ask for William. He continued to be selectively deaf.

While he ignored her, the nurses didn't. As they were hurried towards the delivery room, William ran up eyes wide and freshly scrubbed. Molly nearly sobbed in relief to see him, dropping Sherlock's hand to reach for her husband. He stepped back, hunching into the shadows as they embraced and William kissed her brow. Shouting a 'Thank you!' back at him, William followed Molly and their midwife into the birthing room.

He watched the door close.

He needed a fag.

*****

Catherine Hooper (Smith, John joshed him. It doesn't work that way, mate.) was born red faced and wrinkled. Her chubby hands were like claws that pawed through the air unless bound in a swaddle and she made the most alarming mewling and sobbing sounds.

She was beautiful.

He could already see the Molly in her. The infant had her nose, her pointed chin, her mouth. Unfortunately, she'd inherited William's cabbage ears and he feared his squat hands, but it was so difficult to tell at this stage of development. Watching over John's shoulder as he held the baby, he took it all in and dared not to touch.

William had offered to let him to hold the baby. Right after asking him if he wanted to be the godfather since he was 'such a good friend to Molly.' There hadn't been any malice or hidden agenda in his words. It just made him hate him more. Refusing both and muttering about superstitious nonsense, he had retreated to the back of the room as the family and friends trudged through.

Now he found himself desperately wishing that Molly would ask him if he wanted to hold the baby. Everyone who held her seemed to be filled with delight as they marveled over her tiny nails and soft skin. There was something mysterious about it, nearly magical and he wanted to know if he would experience it as well. So he hovered behind John, hoping that the man would turn and hand him the baby once he was done and-

Catherine yawned and sleepily batted her eyes open. It took his breath away.

Her eyes were blue.

His heart pounded in his chest, mouth going dry as he stared down at the eyes that were nearly the same shade as his own. Molly's were brown as were William's yet the infant's was clearly blue. Palms sweating, he rubbed them against his suit jacket and panicked and hoped vainly.

"Her eyes are blue."

Mary laughed, eyes dancing as she played with Catherine's little foot. "Of course they are, silly! Most babies are born with blue eyes. They'll darken up soon enough. To brown maybe like your Mummy and Dada?"

There was no reason for the pain in his chest to nearly overwhelm him, but it did. Stiffly, he gathered up his coat and marched from the room not even bothering to mutter a goodbye.

"What's the matter with him?" William asked as he stomped away. There was only concern in his voice. There was no bounds for his hatred of that man.

"Too much baby, probably," Molly said with a chuckle. "Honestly, I'm surprised he stuck around as long as he did."

That hurt. More than the fact that Catherine's eyes would not remain blue. Texting Lestrade to demand a case, he burst out into the streets of London and put all thoughts of babies that shared his eyes and Molly's face out of his mind.

*****

Molly Hooper (she'd given up by now) slowly changed the lab. Her office was no longer a domain of cat pictures, instead photos of Catherine as she grew dominated the walls. Her eyes had darkened to brown. Her curly hair was growing in straight. She was still the loveliest child he'd ever seen, but he hated how so many of the photos were polluted by the presence of William in them.

Molly's name tag changed to reflect her married name. She transitioned her publications to appear under her married name as well. He hadn't seen the point to either of those.

Nearly four years after Catherine was born he breezed in to pursue a case, two cups of coffee in his hands and froze. Molly was sitting at her lab bench looking grim. She looked up at him with an apology already in her eyes. "Sherlock we need to talk," she said softly.

Despite his mind screaming at him to turn and walk away, that she couldn't hurt him if he didn't give her the opportunity to talk, he moved to the opposite side of the lab bench and sat down. He nearly pushed her cup of coffee to her before his mind caught back up and he stopped, pulling it back.

"You're pregnant again," he said, voice hollow. Swallowing hard, he looked away as Molly nodded. "You're leaving."

"Bill's received the most amazing opportunity near his family," Molly said. Her voice was soft but hurried as if it would be easier if she got it over quickly. "We were going to take it anyway and figure out what I was going to do once we got there, but with the second baby coming... Well, we think we can make it on one income. I can be a stay-at-home Mum with them."

He frowned at that. "I did not think you wanted that."

Shrugging, she beamed. "I knew I'd never get the chance at it here. London's just too expensive. Things are a bit cheaper down there though and Bill's parents are going to loan us a bit of money to help us afford a home. We many even get a garden. But Sherlock," she reached across the table to take ahold of his hands, "I don't want you to worry. Before I leave I'm going to find you a replacement. Someone who can work with you and that meets your standards for the morgue and lab. Mike's agreed to it already. We figure that you've helped bring the quality of the Bart's morgue up high enough that it's only fair for you to help determine my replacement."

Removing his hands from hers, he stood and left the room without a word. He ignored the sound of Molly calling out for him and hurrying after him. Stalking back to Baker Street he threw himself onto the sofa and didn't move for three days.

On day four, John lost his patience and broke in the door after hours of shouting, threatening, and attempted bribes did nothing. He expected to find the flat a wreck but the reality was much worse. In his four day old suit and coat, he was curled up on the sofa, knees almost touching his chin as he stared at the dark leather.

John's gaze traveled over his friend and he sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair as he sat down on the chair that was formally his. "Still?"

"Of course still. Always still." His voice was hoarse with disuse and thirst as he pulled himself into a tighter ball.

"She's married Sherlock. She has a family."

His eyes closed tightly. "I know," he murmured, heart twisting in his chest.

"She's happy."

"I know."

"Then why are you... What is this really all about? You're not trying to-"

"Ruin everything? No." He sat up slowly, banishing the dizzyness from staying still for so long. Sometimes, usually late at night, he wondered what life would have been like if he had been a good man instead. If he had been the type of man who could remember things like anniversaries or birthdays or dinner with the family. If he had been the sort of person who would be affectionate in public and send flowers just because it was a Tuesday and she liked flowers. Daisies. Molly was so simple sometimes.

Standing, he slowly walked to the bathroom, stripping off his clothing as he went. Turning back to gaze at John he nearly smiled but decided against it at the last moment. He would know that it was a lie. "I'm going to do the right thing, John. I'm going to learn to let her go."


	2. Chapter 2

AN: For Moriah AKA LadyCorvidae. Who had a birthday recently and sometimes sends me recipes. This one's for you!

*****

Molly Smith (it hurt simply to think of her that way) left London with her husband, her child, and her growing belly. John hadn't even had to insist that he attend her farewell. He'd wanted to see her go. Wanted to finish the endless grief, longing, and panic that rolled through him on a regular basis as he realized he'd never see her face again. Hear her voice. His world would be ever so much more small and quiet without her.

So he attended her sending off with a bottle of sparkling grape juice and watched her navigate between the small group of assembled guests. Most of them were William's friends or the mothers of Catherine's friends. Only he, John, and Mike were there purely for Molly. He found he somewhat liked that.

She was as big as a boat now with two months still to go. He asked her if she was planning on birthing a footie ball instead of an infant and she laughed. It startled him. He hadn't realized that he could make her laugh with a joke. That he'd ever want to joke with her.

Sentiment crashed upon him and he excused himself to her balcony, trembling fingers rummaging through his pockets for a fag. He fumbled with a lighter, dropping both it and the cigarette when a light yet firm voice said, "No smoking at my flat please. Even if it is outside."

Molly stood behind him, arms folded but a smile on her lips. He hadn't even heard her open up the door to follow him. Stepping aside to give her room he tried not to notice how the moon bathed her skin in an unearthly glow and failed. His fingers ached to touch her.

"Tired of the party?" she asked with a smile. "I'm surprised you came."

"You did not think I would come to say goodbye." A statement. He had seen the way her eyes had widened when he walked in, following John.

She shrugged, shoulders heaving in the moonlight. "You hate changes and sentiment. This is both."

Nodding, he turned his gaze out to her view. It was terrible. A corner of grass and a lorry lot, the men still loading the trucks despite the late hour. Suddenly he could see Molly's burning wish to move out into the country. Next to a lorry lot with a burgeoning drug market and a minor homeless population was no place to raise children. The country would be better, more wholesome. In the country the children would have room to run and play. They could learn to swim and have a tree fort there. He could keep bees. Molly could-

Mind screeching to a halt, he shook his head. No. Molly was leaving. No children with blue eyes, no bees, no Molly...

"As I age the more sentimental I become," he rumbled, hands clenching the rail to the balcony. "It's not entirely unwelcome. Besides, we're friends. You said it yourself once."

She gave him an odd look but smiled and wrapped her arm around him in a slight hug. "Of course we are."

He stiffened at her touch and she pulled away with an apology, stammering something about how sorry she was and how she had known he didn't like to be touched. All he could think about was how foolish he was being to ever let her pull away.

*****

Molly Smith (he was resigned, time to accept it) sent him a photo of her son after he was born. London was quieter without her. Life was stiller without knowing she was near. The replacement was perfectly proficient, bent to his whims and let him bring home any pieces he wanted, but the coffee wasn't the same. He tried drinking it with cream and one sugar like Molly liked and that helped. And hurt at the same time.

The little boy was beautiful just like his sister. Molly's nose, her chubby cheeks, and the blue eyes that sometimes haunted his nightmares. He despaired that they would likely darken as well. However, the best part of the photo was that William wasn't it in. It was just the boy and Molly, looking worn and exhausted but so proud and joyful that it warmed him to see her so happy. William was obviously the photographer, the slight blur to the edges from his shaking hands was evidence of that, but it was almost enough for him to delete the idea that William was involved at all.

Until he read the e-mail and saw the name.

"Our little Billy Junior! 6 pounds 4 ounces everyone! Say hello to the newest Smith!"

He had no desire to say hello or anything else to anyone with a name like that. Snapping his laptop shut he threw it across the room and stalked out to demand a case from Lestrade. When John asked him if he'd seen the birth announcement he told him that he must have deleted it. On accident of course.

******

It was John Watson who made the call. Phoned him at nearly midnight even though he preferred to text and spoke in a voice that was so grave that it made his hair stand on end. "There was an accident in Sussex. The car Molly was in flipped on the highway... Sherlock..."

He didn't wait to listen to the rest of what John had to say. Simply hung up, packed a bag, and phoned Mycroft to demand the fastest transportation possible to Sussex. Expense be damned.

He ignored John's frantic calls and texts for hours as he rode in the car south.

*****

Molly Hooper (oh god, Molly) looked all of ten in the hospital bed, hooked up to more monitors and wires than he knew was possible. Stealing her chart he glanced over it, most of the medical jargon flying over his head though the gist of it was clear.

She would survive.

His heart flew.

Taking the seat next to her, he held her hand until the rosy fingers of dawn spread and Molly began to wake.

"Bill?" she whispered, eyes fluttering as she stirred.

He dropped her hand and leaned closer to the bed. The better for her to see him. "Not William. It's Sherlock."

"Sherlock?" she repeated, brow furrowing. "What... What are you doing here?"

A difficult question to answer. "I may have misinformed the nursed of our exact relationship. I told them I was your cousin." Molly continued to appear confused and he took her hand in his again, squeezing it. That got her attention and she paused, blinking at their joined digits. "There was an accident, Molly."

"I know. Bill slid on the ice while we were making a turn and we tumbled," she muttered, trying to push herself up on the bed. Nearly struggling up into a sitting position, she suddenly went white. "Oh God! Catherine!"

"Fine," he said quickly and helped her the rest of the way up. "A minor concussion and a broken clavicle were her only injuries. She'll be released from the hospital before you are."

Molly's shoulders sank. "Billy?"

"Your son?" She nodded. "Completely unharmed. I believe that William's parents have taken custody of him until you recover."

She nodded and sighed deeply, leaning back into the pillows. "And Bill?"

He was silent.

Molly looked to him, brow furrowing as he stared fixedly at her duvet. How had she not yet been informed? He didn't want to be the one to tell her this. He didn't want this memory associated with him for the foreseeable future.

"Sherlock... What happened to Bill?" her voice trembled slightly as she squeezed their still entwined hand. "Y-you can tell me. Was it bad?"

Sighing, he dropped her hand and leaned back. Meeting her eyes, he slowly shook his head.

For a moment Molly stared at him. Then she burst into tears.

*****

William Smith was buried in his family plot. His parents had paid a rush to have the tombstone ready for the ceremony and he alternated between staring at it and Molly as John hovered by his side. 'Beloved Son and Father' it read right under William's name and the year of his birth and death. He looked to Molly, sobbing brokenly and all in black and the daughter who was also inconsolable. Beloved was certainly true.

John walked away with Mary, William's parents took the children, and suddenly somehow he and Molly were left alone at the grave. He glanced down at the tombstone again, noting the engraved river and fish in the corner. Snorting, he shoved his hands in his pockets. "I was unaware that William enjoyed fishing."

"He loves it," Molly sniffled, staring down at the grave. "He's always popping off to try a new stretch of stream and coming back covered in mud and smelling of fish... Loved it I-I mean... He used to..."

Darting over, he caught her as she collapsed, pulling her tightly to his chest as she sobbed and broke. Fingers clutching his lapels, face buried in his coat, Molly sobbed and keened, moaning a name he'd come to hate with more broken heartedness than he could bear. Not knowing what else to do he stroked her back gently, occasionally making little soothing sounds.

"I-I-I don't k-know what to d-do," Molly sobbed, gathering herself up a bit.

His heart pounded. "You could return to London. Your replacement is adequate but in no way as talented as you. You could get your position at Barts back, things could go back to the way they were before." It would be better than before, actually. They could return to the days when Molly was unattached and fond of him, but this time he would be fond of her as well. Her children would change the dynamic considerably, but he was willing to adapt. He'd even allow her a year or two to properly mourn before asking her out for a coffee.

Shaking her head, Molly pulled away. She rubbed at her eyes, pulling a tissue out of her sleeve and dabbing at her nose. "I can't. Bill's parents have been so wonderful and supportive and I can't move the kids away from that when they need it."

Lips pursed, he nodded. "I understand. Molly. I thought I should tell you, in case you were currently unaware, that if you ever need anything... You can have me."

The words hung between them, a memory of another time hanging in the air. A time where he had been a fool. He'd had her and let her slip through his fingers. It couldn't happen again.

She smiled at him, reached out to squeeze his hand. "Thank you," she whispered.

Then she turned and walked towards the car where William's parents and her children waited. He turned back and gazed down at the grave for another moment. It didn't make any logical sense. How could he so desperately hate a man who was already gone?

*****

Mary Watson became the bane of his existence for the next three years. The woman had married his flatmate, not him, and he did not understand why she believed that meant she had to nag him as well. Yet it was always happening. If John didn't manage to convince him to come over for dinner, she was sending plates of food over with him. If he refused to eat them, Mrs. Hudson would badger him until he did. He didn't understand their obsession with making him eat.

So he'd lost a few pounds. It was understandable and considerably better than blowing up like a balloon like Mycroft was always dieting away from. He was still fit in mind and body. Criminals continued to be no match for him and the work continued to distract him from both drug usage and boredom.

He didn't understand why everyone would give him such pitying looks when they thought he wasn't looking. He didn't understand why they felt the need to whisper about him when they thought he couldn't hear. He didn't understand.

Molly would have though.

For a moment he pictured her beside him in the cab instead of John, her hair pulled back and that ridiculous cherry jumper on. She smiled at him like she used to, eyes nervous as she stammered and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

He missed her. At last he could admit that now. It had been three years since her husband died, three years since he'd last seen her in person, and he still missed her. While she never phoned him like she did Mary, she still e-mailed him occasionally and made him wonder. What did the smily face next to her signature on the e-mail actually mean? Was she actually happy or pretending to be? How could she be content being a nurse in that dreadful little practice, didn't she realize how overqualified she was for that place? Why wouldn't she see reason and return to London? Did she not know how much she was missed?

Was she ready to move on? Ready to embark on a romantic relationship with him? Or had he once again missed the signs?

John opened the cab door and stepped out, breaking his vision of Molly. Poking his lined face back inside, he beamed at him. "Coming up for dinner tonight?"

The idea of company was distasteful to him in his mood. With the case solved - too easy, barely a four - and Molly on his mind all he wanted was his violin and to be alone. "I should think not."

Sighing loudly, John ran a hand through his still military short haircut. "Come on, Sherlock. How long has it been since you've had a decent meal? Molly sent over a recipe for chicken tikka that Mary's making tonight."

He hesitated, lip twitching for a moment as he gazed out the window. His fingers twitched and he opened the cab door as John's frown turned into a grin. "Good on ya, mate!"

"I don't wish to be a burden," he muttered, flipping up his collar as John dragged him towards light and warmth.

"You're never a burden," John assured him. He raised an eyebrow at that. Rolling his eyes, John punched him in the arm. "Okay, fine. You're a great git, the neediest bloke I've ever met, and you're as emotional as a teenaged girl. But you're always welcome at the Watson home, you know that."

Warmth spread through his chest and he nodded once. Shoving his hands into his pockets he followed John up the stairs and held the door as John scooped an excitedly screaming toddler into his arms. He didn't even wince as the child's shriek reached an ear splitting pitch as John spun him around in a circle.

"Unk Lock! Unk Lock!" Hamish Watson nearly screamed catching sight of him. Grubby hands reached out for him and he gently patted the boy on the head before moving out of reach. To be honest the child, with his unbounding enthusiasm, disturbed him a bit. He didn't understand how anyone could be so excited to see him on a regular basis.

"There you are! I was beginning to worry," Mary said, stepping out into the hall. Her mobile was in her hand as she leaned over to kiss John on the cheek before nodding to him. "Staying for dinner, Sherlock? I've made loads."

Shucking off his coat, Sherlock followed the happy couple and their child to the table as John told Mary about their case. He rolled his eyes at the retelling. It was all much more exciting and needlessly dramatic than he recalled. This was why John's blog was so much more popular than his, he supposed. Uncalled for drama to distract the casual mind.

He tuned out as he sat, spreading his napkin on his lap as Mary began to spoon out the food. "Well I had a productive day as well," she said smugly, handing him the first plate. "You have a clever, clever wife, Doctor Watson."

"I'm glad to hear it Mrs. Doctor Watson," John grinned and he couldn't help but agree. Mary was, in all likelyhood, the forth most remarkable woman in England. Molly and Mrs. Hudson reserving the positions of first and second and The Woman taking the third spot when she was in the country. He'd been quite impressed that John had managed to find and woo her. It had been surprisingly clever of him to do so.

He'd taken the seat closest to the child's high chair and reached for the container of yogurt unbidden. Mary shot him a thankful glance as she set out the rest of the plates. Sometimes he wondered if this was why she had John invite him to dinner so often, that he took on the responsibility of feeding the child, but Mary was no so shallow as that. Hamish beamed at him widely and chatted happily in a foreign language interspersed with real words as he spooned the Greek yogurt into his mouth and tried to distract the near baby from playing instead of eating.

Beaming widely at his friend, John seemed incredibly pleased at the exercise in familiar affection he'd forced his friend into before turning back to Mary and beginning to eat. "So what did you do that was so clever today?" he asked, taking a huge bite of chicken.

"I convinced Molly to join a dating site and message one of the fellows she was matched with," Mary said smiling. Obviously pleased with herself, she didn't even look at him as he froze, spoon full of yogurt in his hand.

John gaped at her. "Why would you do that?"

"Molly's been ready to move on for almost a year now. I just gave her a little push in that direction," Mary said, eyes narrowing at John's exasperated tone. "She deserves to be happy."

"Of course she does, I just-"

He set the spoon down with a clank and stood abruptly, the dinner suddenly unbearable. Both John and Mary gazed up at him, John's face a mask of concern while Mary's held only puzzlement. She truly was a stupid woman. He didn't know why John had ever bothered to marry her. Muttering something about an experiment, he grabbed his coat and was out the door before John could rise to his feet to stop him.

Wincing at the slam of his front door, John sighed and ran a hand over his face. Turning back to Mary, John scowled at his wife and flopped back into his seat. "Did you have to do that?" he demanded, voice cross as he glared down at his food. "You know how Sherlock is about Molly. That was cruel."

Looking entirely too smug, Mary smiled at him as she collected the discarded container of yogurt and took up feeding Hamish. "It was a bit cruel," she agreed, "but it was also very clever if I do say so myself. Sherlock, the poor lamb, needs a bit of a push, don't you agree? Molly's not going to wait around for him forever."

Sighing again, John picked at his food. "This could all blow up in your face, you know."

"I know, sweetheart. But I had to try."

*****

He didn't understand. He didn't understand.

He'd told Molly, told her, that she could have him when she was ready. Hadn't she understood? Hadn't she wanted him again the way she once had? The way he wanted her now?

Pacing a rut in the flooring of 221B Baker Street, tearing at his hair, he breathed through his nose and wondered what to do. Fact: Molly was ready to move on. Fact: Molly hadn't approached him first to move on with. Why?

While she was ready to move on from the loss of her husband, perhaps she didn't wish to move on with him. Perhaps the feelings that she once had for him were dead. Gone. They would not return. No, he dismissed the thought from his mind with a wave of his hand. Molly Hooper had once wanted him. She'd given him up to marry that man, but the affection was still there.

It had to be.

It was buried. He just needed to get it out.

How?

Flopping down into his armchair he buried his face in his hands and tried to think. Ordinary people got together all the time. How could this be so difficult for him? Just because he had never done this before - he wouldn't think on the complications, only the solutions - didn't mean he wouldn't be able to. So how did normal people begin romantic relationships? Proximity and regular interaction had something to do with it. Ordinary people spent lots of time together. At bars, at the cinema, on dates. While he had no interest in any of those, there was something to be said about having the one you were embarking on a relationship with nearby.

Eyes casting about his flat, he sat back in his chair with a sigh. That settled it then. Texting Mycroft, he got to his feet and went to go pack.

*****

Molly Hooper opened the door despite it being after midnight and despite it pouring rain outside. Eyes going wide, she pulled her dressing gown more closed and stared up at him. "Sherlock?" she whispered, her voice wavering slightly. "Why are you here? Is something the matter? Are you alright?"

His chest swelled at the sight of her. She'd been sleeping and her tied back hair was mussed by her rest despite the brief efforts she'd taken to tidy it as she'd hurried to the door. Her dressing gown was frayed and far too large for her, a remnant of William. Large bags had taken up residence under her eyes, an effect of children and long work hours. Nearly fifteen additional pounds of weight separated her body from that she'd had before children, but he didn't find that he minded at all. He'd nearly lost the same since he'd seen her last and her weight lingered in her breasts and waist in a way he found profoundly distracting.

He hadn't seen her in over three years, not since the day of her husband's funeral. He had not spoken to her for the same duration of time besides the occasional text and signing his name to the Watson annual Christmas card. Yet upon seeing him for the first time, she worried over him rather than the trouble that he could be bringing upon her.

He'd never wished to crush his body to hers and kiss her more.

"I've retired," he said instead, resisting the urge and stilling his twitching fingers. The rain dripped from his soaking hair and off the end of his nose and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. "I have relocated nearby and thought you should know."

Molly frowned, nose wrinkling in a way he had forgotten he missed. "Sherlock, it's after midnight."

He stilled, lips tightening. He'd only just delivered himself to the home he had purchased, sight unseen from London and had come straight over. The thought of checking the time had not even occurred to him. "Is it?"

Sighing, Molly stepped back and held the door further open. "It is. You better come inside before you catch your death. I'll put on the kettle."

He was through her door before he could stop himself, his large black coat removed to hang next to the two much smaller ones as Molly padded off to the kitchen. The hallway was lined with photographs. Mostly of the children growing and playing though a few of William still lurked on the walls. He could see their framed wedding photo prominently displayed on the mantle and for a moment he felt as if this was a mistake. Yet, he heard the sound of the kettle shriek for a moment and the lure of Molly and her tea overcame him. Finding himself in her kitchen he sat and tried not to drip too much.

Molly seemed self-conscious and embarrassed as she moved through her kitchen. Spending far too long rummaging through her mugs he wondered why as she made a grab for a mug in the back. She poured the tea and set it before him and slowly he realized why.

His mug was perfect, clean, and nearly new besides the slight layer of dust Molly had quickly washed off. Hers was badly chipped with a crack running down the side and stained with orange. Shabby. His eyes wandered around the kitchen and he realized the entire room was shabby. A few of the cupboard doors were no longer hanging right and there was unrepaired water damage in the corner. Her refrigerator was ancient and prone to groaning. The table was lopsided. Everything was clean and neat but old and nearly falling apart. He recalled that the front of the house was the same. The sort of disrepair that came from lack of funds rather than lack of attention.

The money had obviously run out. William's life insurance policy, if he'd had one, hadn't been enough and their savings were gone. Molly being the sole parent with two children to support and William's parents being unable or unwilling to aid her… A flash of anger stabbed through him before he forced himself to relax. He should have known. He should have been here to help years ago. He should have forced her return from London. This would never had been tolerated if he had only realized the state she had been in.

Molly wouldn't meet his eyes. She was flushing slightly as if she knew that he now knew. He sipped his tea and said nothing, fearing to start an argument.

"Why did you come here?" Molly finally asked, her voice soft and wavering. "If you wanted to leave London, why come here?"

The words died in his throat. His declaration of love he'd recited the entire drive down shriveled inside of him. Things had changed far more than he had realized and he no longer knew where he stood. "Your e-mails," he finally said, to fill the silence. "I thought the area looked suitable for my interests."

"What are your interests?"

"I intend to keep bees." The barest hint of a smile crossed Molly's face and relief flooded through him. "Apis mellifera mellifera," he elaborated. "The European dark bee or also known as the black bee. A native to the UK and this area seems well suited to the brooding of them."

Molly shook her head but seemed amused as she sipped her tea. "Bees then. That's enough to distract you from all the murder and cases London has to offer?"

He nodded. "Correct. Though I shall continue to consult with Lestrade on a semi-regular basis. Only on cases that are greater than a seven of course."

"Of course," Molly repeated, her eyes going to her mug again. She was silent for a long moment, her fingers tapping against the handle. "I never knew you read my e-mails. You never replied to any of them. I assumed you were just deleting them unread."

Gaze going to the table, he gripped his mug tighter. "I read them all. I found the contents most stimulating."

Silence reigned between them. The urge to tell her why he had really come, to fall down upon one knee and produce the box he had inherited from Grandmother bore down on him until he felt that he could barely breathe. Molly yawned loudly, breaking the silence and his eyes darted to the clock on her wall.

"It's late," he said, the weight lifting off of him. "I should go."

Molly nodded and escorted him to the door. He shrugged on his still sopping coat and she offered him an umbrella which he accepted before pausing in her doorway. "May I come again?" he asked, hating the uncertainty in his own voice. He'd seen no evidence of a new man in Molly's life but that did not mean that he was once again too late.

She smiled at him and nodded. "I'm at work for most of the day, I work in the clinic in the village, but I get dinner on the table around seven if you're interested."

His heart leapt and he nodded, opening the umbrella and stepping outside. "I shall see you at seven then," he said before embarking back into the rain.

"Sherlock."

He turned at the sound of Molly's voice, looking back to see her lit up by the dim light of her hall. Nervousness covered her features as she played with a chain around her neck – William's wedding ring. Her own still adorned her finger – and gazed at the ground. "I'm glad you're here. It's good to see you. I've missed you, you and everyone else from London."

A smile graced his lips. "I've missed you as well, Molly." The words caused her to smile and glance up at him with a familiar light in her eyes. They had both changed so much and yet she could still look at him in the same way. It gave him hope for what the future would bring them.

"See you at seven then?"

He nodded. "Seven."

The light still in her eyes she smiled at him and shut the door as he walked down the sodden streets. A whistle rose inexplicably to his lips as he walked, surveying the wet landscape and memorizing the layout of his new home. For the first time in a long time he felt light. This wasn't London, but Molly was here and that would suit him just fine.


End file.
